


Of Direction and Chances

by EdnaRose



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdnaRose/pseuds/EdnaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "The Idiot's Lantern" Both the Doctor and Rose are haunted by the events that transpired when the Wire took Rose's face. But when the Doctor catches Rose crying, things take a turn for the better?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Direction and Chances

_"Hey, hey, Rose Tyler," he cooed, "are you crying?"_

_"No," she sniffled, looking up at him with glassy eyes, but grin on her face nonetheless. "It’s just," she stammered, "I don’t know what we’re doing either."_

_*********_

She was in the Library again, he realized. It only been an hour since they’d gotten back from the coronation party, and he couldn’t quite knock the anxious voice within him. He didn’t like what had happened, in fact, it terrified him. It was the first time he felt as though he’d have nothing if he didn’t get her back— face intact. Everything would have changed, the TARDIS would be empty, and he wouldn’t know what to do.

That realization in itself terrified him, as well. The thought of laying his hopes into one girl. One human girl— it was an inane way of thinking, pointless and extremely stupid. If he had lost her, he too would have been lost. And that was the scariest bit of the entire misadventure.

So, in order to calm his terror, he sought her out. And there she was, in the library; she was the picture of innocence. Hair tied up messily, face devoid of make-up, and— were those glasses? Curled up in the armchair in front of the fire, novel in hand, she was there. 

Unfortunately, his sigh of relief was just audible enough to alert her of his presence.

"Yeah, Doctor," she asked, looking up at him in concern. He guessed he might have appeared haggard, so he gave her the smile he knew she liked best. The returning grin startled him. Or rather, the reaction in the pit of his stomach startled him. It was something akin to the fluttery feeling he got whenever one  his limbs became numb and useless, but not as bothersome. 

"Oh, nothing. Not really," he replied walking over to her and grabbing her book away from her. She tried to swat at his hand, but failed miserably as he placed the book down on the mantelpiece and returned only to grab at her hands.

"Are you sure about that? What are you doing, then," the inquiry, he could tell, had double meaning. Or, three meanings— why did he take her book, was he okay after that last debacle they encountered, and why hadn’t he let go of her hands yet? He chose to ignore all three, and instead held her tighter.

"I’m trying something new." He pulled on her hands, bringing her quickly to her feet. He felt her breath catch, as they stood quite close to each other. Her breath was on his face when she looked up, and when he looked down he could see their chests were barely touching. He questioned his sanity, but relished in this feeling from earlier. He was testing it, seeing if it could get stronger. 

When she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his middle, he found it could indeed grow stronger. Quite quickly.

They’d hugged before. In fact, they hugged rather a lot. They hugged when they survived, when they figured something out, when an adventure excited them, when he found out it was Monday. But this, after he thought he’d lost her, and here she was alive and happy to be in his arms.

Slowly he brought his arms up around her shoulders and buried his face in her hair. He breathed her  in: the smell of Rose was the smell of bravery and ferocity— with a hint of honey and lemon. And he loved it.

"What are we doing," he heard her whisper into his chest. He pulled back just slightly to look at her. Eyes closed, face scrunched in concentration, or pain— he really couldn’t tell. He sighed deeply, hands finding her waist and turning them. He sat on the armchair that she’d claimed, and dragged her down onto his lap. 

It didn’t take her long to curl up there, either, placing her head in the crook of his neck. He didn’t know, though. The answer was lost to him. 

What were they doing? Were they just hopping planet to planet for fun? Why was she there? Did he just want to show off to a human? Why was she still there? They’d seen quite a bit, why didn’t she want to go home? Did she feel at home? 

God, he hoped she felt at home. With him. In that library.

In his arms.

"I don’t know," he finally whispered back. 

His hand found her leg, and began to absently rub patterns into it. From her knee to her mid-thigh, tracing letters long forgotten. She didn’t stop him. 

On the contrary, he felt her adjust herself to give him optimum space to doodle on. And then her hand fluttered to the back of his neck, holding onto it as if for dear life. Her head turned a fraction of an inch and her lips found the skin of his neck with slight pressure. Then it was gone, but he felt the lingering moisture of what appeared to be tears.

"Hey, hey, Rose Tyler," he cooed, "are you crying?"

"No," she sniffled, looking up at him with glassy eyes, but grin on her face nonetheless. "It’s just," she stammered, "I don’t know what we’re doing either."

His doodling hand stilled on her leg, and hesitantly moved up to push a stray hair away from her face. 

"Do we have to be doing something?" The question was open and honest. Something he hadn’t done with her. With anybody, rather, for a very long time. "Can’t we just be? Be here and not know?"

"Can we not know together?"

"What else could we do," he quipped gently, hand rubbing her arm in what he hoped was a soothing motion. It had been so long since he’d done this. He was out of practice.

"True," she responded with a giggle. "But Doctor," she asked, looking him right in the face, and he was all too aware of the hand still on his neck not pulling him closer, but not pushing him back as he subconsciously leaned into her.

"Yes," he whispered, focused on her face. Her beautiful young face…

"What are you doing right now?" Her voice was hushed, slightly breathy, eyes fluttering shut the closer he got.

So of course, he chuckled. “Wait two seconds to find out,” he whispered as he zeroed in on her lips with his own. 

He thinks she was expecting it, although they’d never done it before. This wasn’t an activity they’d regularly enjoyed, in fact, this was the first time this specific pair of lips had met with each other while both owners were completely present. 

And his heart was soaring at her receptiveness. 

However, the kiss was quick; it was chaste in every sense of the word. His forehead rested on hers as he smiled.

"You know," he said quietly, "Only a few hours ago, I’d been afraid that I’d never get the chance to do that."

Instead of responding, Rose repositioned herself on the chair, so that her legs straddled his, her forehead still touching his own. His eyes were open now, eyes following hers questioningly. She was smiling again, no tears in sight.

"You," she said, placing her lips on his again. "Can do that," she moved her lips to his cheek and placed a soft kiss there. "Anytime you feel like it," she finished into his ear and pulled back to look into his eyes.

His eyebrows were raised, but in an instant, his arms pulled her flush against him. “Rose Tyler,” he said roughly against her lips, “get ready for a new adventure,” and kissed her soundly.

She giggled into his kiss, and moaned not too long afterward. Her hands ran through his hair with reckless abandon, and he would catalog these things as firsts, too.


End file.
